Chapter Text
“This is hopeless.”
William crumpled up yet another sheet, half-heartedly tossing it in the trash can's general direction. “Never going to happen. I can't even draw a bloody bear.”
Henry laughed to himself; draped an empathetic arm over William.
“Well, he doesn't have to be a bear.”
“It's called Fredbear’s.”
“Fredbear's a bear, that's bear enough. ‘Sides, we can workshop the name, if it bothers you that much. Call it Fredbear and Friends’ Family Diner or something.”
“He just has the one friend, though.”
An elbow bumped against his side. “Quit changin’ the topic! Jeez, It's not rocket science, Will. Don't you have a favorite animal?”
Did he have a favorite animal? William racked his brain. He'd never had a pet or anything.
His mother raised a goose for Christmas once, when he was young. It took his father a good five, ten minutes to get the head off. The chopper was too blunt.
He remembered the horrible noises it made in vivid detail. His father cursing. His mother crying in the kitchen, muffled by the mellifluous tones of Bing Crosby. The shouting match afterwards.
“Not really,” he settled on, eyes drifting to his lap.
Henry made an exasperated little noise. “C’mon, Will, work with me here. If you could be any animal in the world, any at all, what would you be?”
A leech. A parasite. “What do you think I'd be?”
Henry gave the brit a contemplative once-over. “What about a wolf? They're all, y'know, independent and—”
William must've made a face at that, because Henry paused with an amused snort. “Alright, definitely not a wolf, then… Look, it's not like there's any rush. Just think about it, okay? Inspiration's gonna hit you one of these days, man, just wait and see.
—------------
William couldn't sleep.
Henry was right, of course. This shouldn't have been hard. It was just a stupid cartoon, for God's sake, why was it affecting him so much?
What about a wolf?
His chest tightened as he replayed the conversation in his mind, sickened by the mental image. Long, gnarled fangs sitting in a scruffy jaw.
He was not a wolf. He was not a wolf. Couldn't Henry see that?
The sickness in his stomach twisted into something darker, something to the left of disdain.
Wasn't Henry supposed to be different?
A wolf.
He'd show him a fucking wolf.
He sat up in the quiet dark, padding to his desk with newfound determination.
—----------
It took him almost a week to work up the courage. Every day brought another second-guess, another last-minute tweak. He'd erased so much he’d worn the paper thin, fibers hanging off the contours of his sketch like loose thread.
It had to be perfect.
“Henry.”
He may have slammed the door behind him with a little more gusto than strictly necessary for a casual Friday evening. So what? Sue him. This was important.
Henry craned his neck backwards, meeting his eyes upside-down over the sofa headboard.
“Mm?”
William walked up behind him, their faces near-touching as he handed him the neatly folded sheet, handling it with the delicateness of a museum curator.
Henry took it. Unfolded it. Studied it closely.
William hadn't been drawing for long; the difference in skill level was apparent between them, though he was determined to make up for it through sheer determination. He thought he was getting better at the whole symmetry thing, at least, even if the faces didn't always turn out right.
“This is really good, Will!” Henry finally conceded, seemingly relieved that this wasn't about him forgetting to do the dishes again. “Who is she?”
William felt something in his throat.
“Me.”
“This is… you?”
William nodded. Just once. “For the… for Fredbear’s. It's a… it's a rabbit.”
Henry seemed to consider this, his eyes shifting from the cartoon animal to the Brit squirming in front of him like he was drawing some mental comparison.
“Yeah, alright,” he conceded. “I like the purple.”